


Secret Santa 2020

by pinklown



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklown/pseuds/pinklown
Summary: Nacho is stressed, so Lalo decides to whisk him off on a little road trip.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Secret Santa 2020

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rrismo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrismo/gifts).



> FOR CONTEXT this was written for Krokorobin/Rrismo's Regular Boyfriends/modern-day AU (https://tinyurl.com/regularassboyfriends) - so the cartel isn't a factor and neither is Gus, they're just two dudes being bros and holding hands and smooching a little. Y'know, as bros.

It was no secret that Nacho was stressed. Some days, even when nothing was wrong, he felt like a cord pulled too tight, about to snap. He didn't know why. His life wasn't on the line anymore, he hadn't run with a gang in years, but business school was a different type of stress. He was on break between semesters at the moment, but he still felt anxious and preoccupied. Always running numbers in his head for his father’s upholstery shop, working late hours balancing his budget and poring over receipts even when Manuel insisted it was fine.

The only solace in his hectic life was Lalo. Ever since they'd met, Lalo could calm his mind like no one and nothing else. He could drive him crazy like no one else, too, but Nacho was embarrassed to admit how much of an effect a few soothing words from the man could have on him. All it took was a strong hand on his shoulder, a peck on the cheek, an "Okay?" "Okay." to bring him back down to earth.

One morning, after waking up after a night spent at Lalo’s house (to a beautifully prepared breakfast, he didn’t know how he did it) Nacho was sat at the breakfast table shaking his leg, staring at his phone, his mind somewhere else. Lalo glances over. He had barely touched the food he’d made him. He frowned. “Nachito?” 

Nacho jumps a little at the nickname, turning his attention to the man across the table from him. He sets his phone face down on the table, shaking his head and picking up his mug of black coffee and taking a sip.

“Sorry, just… something for the shop.” Lalo makes a face. “I figured.” Nacho’s still bouncing his leg. He speaks again

“You stress yourself out. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack, Ignacio, it's not healthy. You need a break.” Nacho opened his mouth but Lalo cut him off.

“And you know, Manuel has a handle on the shop just as it is. And he’s worried about you too.” He takes a bite. “He told me.”

Nacho is still wary of Lalo’s relationship with his father. It was odd, that’s for certain. Having the first man he’d ever allowed to meet his father become instant best friends felt like a step too far. It felt a little like they were conspiring against him, sometimes. He was certain Manuel had shown him embarrassing baby pictures. Lalo takes a sip of his coffee and speaks again.

“Listen, my family’s got a little place down in Jalisco, on the beach. Why don’t we spend a week or so down there? Air the place out, you can catch your breath.” Nacho deflates a little.

“That sounds great, but I don’t know if I could spring for a plane ticket right now, money’s tight with school… you know I wouldn’t let you buy it for me-” Lalo cuts him off again.

“No problem! We’ll drive. It’d be a road trip, that’s half the fun!” Lalo seemed overly excited, like he’d had this all planned out for a while. Nacho narrowed his eyes.

“A road trip? I don’t know... isn't that the kind of thing suburban white families do? Pack into a minivan and go see the grand canyon and shit?” It felt a little too… domestic. The thought makes Nacho's stomach twist. He scrubs his hand over his face. “I don’t know if the Javelin could take that trip right now, I’ve been working on it, but-” Lalo cuts him off.

“Nonono, I’ll rent us a nice, uh…” he waves his hand, trying to think of the word in English. “Camper, an RV? So we don't have to stay in any nasty hotels along the way. And it's two or three days driving, more if we wanna stop some places and check things out, y’know? We can spend a night in Chihuahua, we can take a detour west and drive along the beach if you want, all the _ gringo _ tourist traps. It’ll be nice, just you and me, driving just to drive.” Nacho wants to object, but can’t find the words. It did sound nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he'd seen the ocean, and he’d certainly never been to Jalisco. 

“Yeah,” he says, trying to convince himself. “Yeah, let’s do it.” Lalo lights up, smiling his big beautiful dumb smile that made Nacho’s heart feel like it was freefalling even the hundredth time he saw it. He reaches across the table and places his hand on top of Nacho's.

“I’m gonna take care of everything, okay? I don’t want you to lift a finger.” Nacho wasn’t sure what he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

Manuel insisted he could take care of the shop on his own. Nacho made him promise he would call him if he needed to, leaving his number written on what seemed like a dozen different sticky notes around his office, one on the phone itself. He wondered for how much of the trip he would have cell service. He already had a headache and they hadn't even left. Lalo left his restaurant in the capable hands of his staff. Nacho was certain he’d threatened their lives before he left, no doubt with a smile.

The day they’re set to leave, Lalo pulls up in front of Nacho’s place in an RV the size of a small house. Nacho is mortified. 

“They didn't have anything smaller?” he asks as Lalo hops out of the driver's seat. Lalo rolls his eyes. “We're spending three days in this thing, we might as well get the best there is, no?” Nacho didn't want to think of the cost of the rental. He didn't even know campers like this existed. Lalo pulls on his arm like a child. “Come on, let me give you the tour.”

The inside of the RV smelled like plastic, like a brand new car. The interior upholstery was all in beige leather, the kind he’d seen in rich client’s cars before but was too expensive for his papa to keep in stock, he had to special order it with the down payment money. He runs his fingers over the stitching as Lalo talks. 

“ _ Mira _ , there’s a little kitchen so I can cook for us every day! We just pull over and hook up the stove and I can make you anything you want.”

Nacho opens the fridge to find it packed with food, cuts of meat and bags of fresh vegetables and fruit, way more than they could ever eat on a three-day trip. A blue bottle of high-end tequila sat on the top shelf. The cupboards were similarly stocked, sacks of rice and sugar and flour, a spice cabinet, and a cupboard filled with nothing but candy, brightly colored labels in both English and Spanish. Lalo reaches past Nacho to grab a packet of lollipops and rips it open, rummaging through the bag for the flavor he wanted. He pulls out a mango flavored one and hands it to Nacho, who takes it without protest. 

“Now!” Lalo says, unwrapping the candy he’d picked for himself and popping it in his mouth. “Let's go!”

* * *

They’d gotten to the border and crossed without incident, and decided to pull over and call it a night somewhere in northern Chihuahua, in the outskirts of the desert. As the sun set and the sky turned from orange to purple, Lalo pulled a bag of firewood from a compartment in the side of the RV and started arranging it for a campfire. Nacho watched, leaning against the side of the camper with his arms crossed.

“So we’re really roughing it, huh?” Nacho said, jokingly. “You know we have a stove.” Lalo shoots him a look over his shoulder. “I’ll use the stove for dinner, this is just for us.” He produces two comfortable looking lawn chairs from the same compartment where he’d gotten the firewood and sets them up around the pile of logs. As Nacho took a seat - the chairs  _ were _ comfortable - Lalo fishes a silver lighter from his pocket and lights the tinder he’d stuffed in the cracks between the logs. The fire began to crackle, and Nacho appreciated the warmth. The night was getting cold fast. 

Lalo stands and turns to him. He expects him to sit down next to him, or say something, anything, but instead he just stares at him, studying him. Nacho feels exposed. Lalo takes a step toward him, his face obscured in the shadow of the fire behind him like an eclipse. He tilts his head.

“Ignacio,” he says, lightheartedly, breaking the silence that was clearly only awkward for Nacho. “Are you alright?” The question catches him so off-guard that he almost asks him to repeat it. He knows Lalo cares for him - as odd as their relationship was, he never had to question that. But he didn't expect him to ask something like that outright. It took him a minute to find his words, staring blankly at Lalo.

“Yeah! I am, I’m doing great.” He cringes internally at himself. “I… I appreciate this. Everything you’re doing for me. It’s great. It’s just…” he looks away from Lalo, to the fire that’s slowly growing. “It’s not what I’m used to, know? I usually take care of myself. It’s hard to let you do things for me.” He’s shocked by his own honesty. Lalo bends down, slowly, kneels in the sand next to Nacho’s chair. His heart pounds. 

“Thank you,” Lalo says, after a minute. “for letting me take care of you.” He takes Nacho’s hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing the top of his knuckles. Nacho’s breath catches in his throat.

“Now,” Lalo says, standing up and brushing the grit from the knees of his jeans. “I make us dinner.” He points at Nacho and narrows his eyes. “Don’t you dare try and help.” Nacho lifts his hands in mock surrender.

* * *

Dinner was incredible, as anything made by Lalo always was. Something with shredded chicken and red and green peppers and flavors Nacho can’t even identify. The ate by the light of the fire. Lalo had broken out the bottle of tequila and poured them each a generous glass, and they toasted to their trip. 

Nacho was still rattled by Lalo’s questioning earlier. He felt like a fool. He was doing all this for him and he acted like a startled animal, like he hated to be here. He couldn't get over the guilt that nagged at him. He finished his glass and stood up. “I’m gonna get some sleep. I’ll drive first tomorrow.” Lalo stayed out by the fire. Of course, after a day of driving he still wasn't tired. 

As Nacho settled into the soft bed, he stared at the ceiling and silently cursed his awkwardness. It never seemed to bother Lalo - he either genuinely didn't see it, or pretended for his sake. He settled on the conclusion that Lalo felt too good to be true. He was more than he deserved. 

He was always afraid of getting in too deep. Always hand on the trigger, always looking for the nearest exit, just in case. Always waiting for the day when his paranoia would be justified, as if that would vindicate years of walking on eggshells, holding his breath, never getting too comfortable. And on the day it would all inevitably come crashing down, he could tell himself _I_ _knew it, I knew this would come_. _And_ _I was ready for it._

Sometimes he saw glimpses of the futility of it all -- keeping a house with empty cupboards to be sure you weren't robbed was no way to live. If something felt too good to be true, he would tear it down, step away, just to be certain he alone was the reason he could no longer have it. He could find comfort in that, the self-fulfilling prophecy. 

But at night when he was lying in bed with Lalo, after he finally fell asleep (after hours of tossing and turning, checking his phone, tapping his finger on the headboard, getting up to rummage through a drawer across the house) he'd stare at his back and it rose and fell and listen to his soft snores and wish he could be a little more free-spirited, like Lalo was. 

He knew of course their background had a lot to do with it - Lalo had never worried about his family having enough money for rent, never ran with a gang. He had the luxury of security. He could let his guard down and take a chance on people like Nacho. He could open his restaurant because he thought it would be fun, leave for a week and come back to improvise some new dinner special that everyone would love. And Nacho envied that, that freedom. 

As he drifted off to sleep, he swore he could hear Lalo singing softly to himself.

* * *

Nacho’s jolted awake by something loud and sudden, and his heart is racing before he's even fully awake or able to process what the sound was that woke him up. He hears a solid thump, then another, and realizes slowly that it’s coming from the roof of the RV. 

Sitting up and sliding out of bed, he grabs his phone and taps open the flashlight. He makes his way to the door and opens it slowly, silently. The fire is still crackling, but both lawn chairs are empty. 

“Lalo?” he calls. Lalo’s voice rings out from behind him. “Up here!” Nacho whips his head around. Lalo is squatting on top of the camper, looking down at him. “Did I wake you?” He’s smiling big and stupid even with Nacho’s flashlight in his face. For just an instant, his eyes reflect like a cat’s. “I wanted to get a better look at the stars.” 

Nacho thinks to ask if if he really thinks the ten feet of altitude really gives him an edge, but he doesn't. Instead he just laughs to himself. Lalo reaches out a hand. “You want up? Or you can go back to sleep, I’ll be quiet.” 

Nacho turns off his flashlight and reaches back inside to drop his phone on the counter, letting the door swing closed on his way back out. He grabs Lalo’s hand, big and strong and unwavering. He steps up onto the wheel well until he’s high up enough to hoist himself onto the roof with Lalo’s support. His heart is racing again, and he doesn't think it's from the exertion of the climb. 

“How’d you get up?” Nacho asks. Lalo laughs. “I got up on the hood first.” Nacho realizes belatedly he could've done that, too. It probably would've been easier. 

He lays flat on his back, his back pressed against the cool metal of the camper. Lalo sits next to him, leaning back on his elbows. Nacho stares up at the stars. He remembers the constellations he learned to find when he was little, Orion and Ursa minor and major. He turns his head to the side to face Lalo, and after a moment, Lalo does the same. He sits up and leans in, and Lalo does too.

He kisses him softly, then. There's no heat to it, no urgency, just their lips pressed together, sharing the same air. For a minute they're floating together in the dark, and all that's real is each other. 

When they pull apart, Nacho opens his tired eyes and looks at Lalo’s face lit by the soft orange light of the dying fire. 

“Thank you,” he says. “for this. For everything.” Lalo leans his head back and closes his eyes and smiles up at the stars. “Don’t mention it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry (early) Christmas!


End file.
